Basic Tendencies
by hypercamera3
Summary: A non-cannon, two-story, spinoff of DC2030's Redeeming Tendencies, set the day of his OC Nolan York's funeral. Used with permission of the creator.
1. Passionate Tendencies

**This is a non-cannon spinoff from DC2030's Redeeming Tendencies. I wrote this and the next chapter one lonely day a few weeks ago, after finishing that story. If you are not familiar with DC2030 and his KND: Universe, leave now and read it. You will not be disappointed. This first one brings to the spotlight my infamous OC from A Darker KND, Broderick 'Numbuh 725' Nicolson. This is a pretty standard story, seen through the eyes of a KND operative attending the funeral of DC2030's Nolan York. I really dug deep inside myself for this one, and I'm proud of it. Combined abit of his style with my own, and I think it turned out well. The KND: Universe is used with permission from DC2030. **

**It's... personal for me. **

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**Passionate Tendencies**

**Quahog Graveyard: May 17th**

(Play 'Not Your Kind of People' by Garbage)

He stood in the center of the crowd, easily looked over. The people moved passed him to the grave as the casket was carried to the hole that had been dug for it. The boy who stood in the crowd was short, not much older than eleven. He wore a pair of glasses with transition lenses, turning black as the sun hit them to mask his soft green eyes. He kept the hood of his black hoodie up, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black jeans. They didn't know who he was, letting him in under the assumption he was just another bystander that wanted to attend the funeral. Nolan, The Sandman, Numbuh 2030, had a large amount of friends, so he was overlooked in the crowd.

The boy in black, secretly one of the KND operatives that still remained in this horrible time they lived in, was glad that he had been looked over. He hated to let people see him cry. He looked around at the villains that made their way up to the casket. Promethean bowed his head slightly. Holiday approached the casket and reached into his pocket. He held his hand out over it and opened it slowly, letting a small amount of sand fall onto the wooden casket. "May 17th: The Day of the Sandman, at least in my mind." He said aloud, shuffling away from it.

The rest of those in attendance slowly made their way past the casket, setting a rose atop the casket as they individually passed. The boy in black, Broderick Nicolson, chose to stay where he stood, sobbing softly to himself, out of everyone else's hearing. Broderick had joined the Kids Next Door because of Numbuh 2030. When he turned eight, his brother had mentioned someone from Sector Q. The boy had quickly looked into the person, Nolan, and had followed his whole career up to his decommissioning. He had read every report of the missions Nolan had been a part of. He was inspired to go through the cadet training because he believed in the way Nolan followed the KND; he believed in Numbuh 2030's standard.

Broderick was proud of himself because of his outspokenness in the KND, something that the leaders at the Moonbase had decided was not good, as he reminded them too much of Numbuh 2030. He was assigned to a nomad Sector, a sector that's job was to constantly move from one place to another for missions, without restrictions. The nomad Sector was called BA, Bad Apples- however, most had simply taken to calling them the Bad Company, or the Worst Sector. He was lucky that he had made friends with a few cadets who stayed with him even when he was moved to the Sector.

He could relate to Nolan, which was why he felt such a close connection to him. Broderick had also lost his father at a young age, and he felt the need to stand up for something more, something greater. As the crowd slowly dispersed when the casket was lowered into the hole, Broderick simply moved through the graves for a few feet, before settling himself between two graves. He removed his glasses, setting them in the dirt beside him. The tears slowly streamed down his cheeks as he gasped softly, trying to catch his breath again. An amazing operative was being buried this day; an even greater ideal.

Despite his love for the career of Numbuh 2030, Broderick had only ever met him once, not long after he had been made an official member of the KND, choosing to become Numbuh 725. Nolan York had been surrounded by the members of the Prospectors. He had attempted to approach the boy. He wanted to tell him how much of an inspiration he had been to him. He wanted to tell him how proud he was to be serving in the KND with an operative like Nolan. He wanted to thank him for making him find something grander in life. Instead, he saluted to Nolan, and Nolan smirked and nodded at him as he walked past.

Another tear stained his cheek as he realized he would never have the opportunity to say any of those things to him again. The secret of Nolan actually being the gas-masked hero of Quahog, The Sandman, had been released to the public now. Broderick was going to see if he could read up on the Sandman, as he felt he owed it to the operative whose career he had followed already. Thoughts began to formulate in his mind about Nolan York's life as the Sandman. Even after his decommissioning, after all the KND had done to him and his friends, he had continued to fight for the greater good, for a higher standard, a forgotten standard. The thoughts were telling him that even he would have to follow in the footsteps of Nolan into his life after the KND. He felt that it would be a good way to honor his fallen idol. A new form of passion, of inspiration, began to flow through his veins with his boiling blood, as he felt the surge of power in taking on a mask for himself and dealing the justice that needed to be dealt.

Now, however, was not such the time for a passion like that. Right now, he mourned for the loss of his idol, for someone he had hoped would be his friend, yet he had never approached. As Broderick sat there, in the empty cemetery, between tombstones, the soft sound of footsteps on grass could be heard. He felt the gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up. Broderick saw the gentle smile of his fellow operative, and girlfriend, Numbuh 79, whose real name was Elizabeth. Even if he wasn't sitting on the ground, she would have stood a head taller than him. He loved the look of her red hair in the nice sunlight. She knelt down to his level, picking up his glasses and placing them in his hands. "You alright, Broderick?" She said softly.

Broderick put the glasses in his lap, rubbing at his teary eyes with the back of his knuckles. He nodded slowly. "Mhm… Y-yeah… I'm alright, Elizabeth."

He put his glasses back on and she stood back up. She extended a hand. He smiled softly at her action and grasped her hand, letting her lift him back to his feet. "There's a few teens causing some trouble across town from here… If you're up for it, I mean…" She said calmly, entwining her fingers around his fingers.

Broderick sniffed, looking back at the grave of his fallen idol. He thought back to all those things he wished he could have said. He thought about all the things that could have been. He sighed softly, lifted himself onto his toes, and kissed Elizabeth's cheek. He felt that inspiration, that passion, coursing through him again. "Let's stop them." He said happily, between calming breaths.

His mind slowly wrapped itself around the memories of all he had ever read of Nolan York, Numbuh 2030. Deep in his heart, he was hurt by the death of his greatest source of hope. Yet, he knew that the fight for true justice could not wait because of the death of a single figure. A true hero never dies; for his ideals live on. Even though those ideals were hibernating, replaced with feelings of mourning, they would wake again. Broderick smiled softly at the thought of the world Nolan fought for; smiled happily at the sight of Elizabeth. He walked down the path of the cemetery to the gates, glancing one final time back at the grave.

(Song End.)


	2. Motherly Tendencies

**In Redeeming Tendencies, Nolan's mother is dismissed with a single line, one that I felt seemed to say so much and so little at the same time. So, I wrote about it. To explain: I lived with my grandparents for all of my life. They died two years ago. Six months apart from each other. I couldn't attend their funerals... For the longest time, dear readers, I could never put into words why. But I was able to, through the proxy of Mrs. Kyla York. Broderick serves as my proxy when I need to speak truth about strength. Sometimes, I suppose, I require the help of strangers to learn me right. This one is quite short. But I stand to say it is the best thing I have written yet, fanfiction-wise or original, because it is the truest. Thank you fanfiction community. Thank you Gamewizard2008. And thank you Ma and Grandpa, for everything. **

**This one hurt me to write. But, I'm so happy I did. I hope you enjoy both of these. **

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**Motherly Tendencies  
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**Quahog Park: May 17th **

(Play 'Hold On To What You Believe' by Mumford and Sons)

She was not attending the funeral. She could not attend the funeral. She could not put into words, to people who asked her, why she could not go. Overall, it was the idea of closure. If she were to stand there and watch Nolan's casket be lowered into the ground, watching the procession go on past with their roses, it would put the final nail in the coffin of her mind that he was truly gone forever, and she would never have him back.

"You're his mother, for Christ's sake." She muttered to herself silently, placing her head in her hands on the bench. Kyla York had lost her husband, Nolan's father, so many years ago, and had forced herself to watch the casket get lowered, if only for her son's sake. She felt the lock and chains get coiled tightly around the memories of her husband. She knew he was gone, and she could not go through that feeling again, not with her son. She had lost both of the ones who her life had relied on, and she just couldn't take that feeling of the closure of her memories with Nolan.

_Who are you going to blame?_ A voice seemed to say. _Will you blame the Kids Next Door, for getting him into this life?_

"No," She muttered silently. "I can't blame those kids. They protected him when I couldn't. He was happy with them. They gave him a reason to carry on. They made him feel… justified in some way."

_Blame Wesley Dodds. He was the one who got your little boy into the business that killed him, _the voice said to her again, somewhere deep in the back of her brain.

"I can't blame Wesley. He was the parental figure that I couldn't replace. He was the father that Nolan lost. That old man did more for Nolan in a few years than I could do for his whole life…" She retorted, sadly.

_Then, who do you blame?_

"I guess…" She sighed softly. She started to chuckle humorlessly. "I have to blame Nolan… My little boy died the way his father died, doing what he felt was right. He died fighting for something he believed in, and I supposed I told him to… hold on to what he believed; always stand up for the right thing." She chuckled again, the tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. She had secretly known about his life as The Sandman. He had stumbled home one night, a few years ago, and knocked something over in his room. He had gone nearly three weeks without sleep and basically collapsed onto his bed after he had gotten home. She had gone into his room and to see what had happened. Kyla York had seen her son, the gas mask still on his face as he snored. She was shocked at first, but slowly smiled and closed the door, returning to her own bed.

She had worried about her son constantly from that point on, but she always felt he was a strong boy. He could defend himself, and she would pretend she had never seen anything. She knew about his risks in the KND, and this seemed no different.

She sobbed softly, holding her face in her hands. "I blame myself! It's my fault!" She said between her gasping sobs. She slowly calmed herself. She looked up to the sky, at nothing.

She wiped the tears away with the back of her knuckle. She smiled softly up at the sky, at nothing. Her voice was hoarse and choked, but she spoke softly, aloud. "Nolan, you were the greatest son. You made your father and I proud, and I know that he is telling you that right now." She stood up, slowly making her way back to her house, her empty home. "I'm sorry I can't be there for you now, son. I can't yet. Not yet."

(Song End.)


End file.
